


293. rotten to the core

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [337]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 01:02:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11070798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: “I’ve been praying,” Helena says. “But no one will tell me what to do.” She turns her head partway, so that the light smears itself down the edge of her profile. “Are you here to tell me what to do.”“No,” Sarah says. “Too late for that.”“Mm,” Helena says. “I thought so.”





	293. rotten to the core

In the church, Sarah’s sister is praying. She’s on her knees. Her hands are clasped. Sarah can hear her babbling like a feverdream, an endless slippery susurrus of syllables. She doesn’t know if they’re Ukrainian or if Helena is just incomprehensible. She flexes her fingers around the grip of her gun, and takes a step forward. Then another step.

Helena stops praying. Her head raises; the light through the stained glass window catches the edges of her hair and dyes them unreal colors. “Hello, _sestra_ ,” she says.

There’s blood on her fingers, red on the white bone of her knuckles. When she unclasps her hands, Sarah listens to the blood rasp against itself.

“Helena,” she says. Helena doesn’t turn around. That will probably make this easier, overall. Sarah wishes she would turn around. Sarah takes another step forward. Her footsteps creak on the floorboards as she walks between the pews and she considers praying – never has, but. Now might be a good time to start. _Our Father – her Father – Father, how could you let this—_

“I’ve been praying,” Helena says. “But no one will tell me what to do.” She turns her head partway, so that the light smears itself down the edge of her profile. “Are you here to tell me what to do.”

“No,” Sarah says. “Too late for that.”

“Mm,” Helena says. “I thought so.” She turns her head back and considers the cross. “I didn’t mean to,” she says. “I meant to before I did it, and when I did it, but then once I did it I did not mean it anymore.”

Sarah keeps her eyes fixed straight ahead of her, does not look at the pews, keeps walking forward. “Bullshit,” she says.

“No,” Helena says sadly, and then she doesn’t say anything else because the muzzle of Sarah’s pistol is pressed up against the back of her hand. Helena puts her hands down gently on the floor, on either side of her folded knees. Her posture relaxes; Sarah hates it.

“It’s a circle,” Helena says suddenly. “Around and around. Do you see it, _sestra_?”

Helena won’t stick to the script, so there’s nothing Sarah can say – _get on your knees_ is useless, because Helena is already there. _Turn around_ is useless, because Helena already has her back to her. Helena isn’t scared. Helena isn’t begging. All she wants to know is whether or not this is a circle, like this is a polite conversation and not what it is, which is – god. Which is what it is.

“Circle means you keep going forward,” Sarah says. “So no.”

Helena makes a hurt sound, and she puts weight on her hands, and she tries to turn around. Sarah’s line: “Don’t.” Helena wobbles but obligingly keeps her back to Sarah.

“I went forward,” she says. “I tried. I went all the way forward and then at the end I was back where I was. I kept changing and there was nothing to change into but the person I changed out of. I promise I tried, Sarah. I killed everyone you wanted me to kill, but none of them were the right one in the end.” She pauses. “The other girl, she wasn’t the right one either.” Sarah watches Helena’s hands lift from the ground, watches Helena’s nails start picking at the blood on her knuckles.

“Stop,” she says. “God, just – stop.”

“Do you pray, Sarah,” Helena says.

“No.”

“I pray for you,” Helena says. “I did before you came in. I prayed. For you. And God answered.” She leans back, and Sarah watches the muzzle of her gun vanish in the tangle of Helena’s hair. “So maybe this is what I was supposed to do. After all.”

Sarah watches the black metal of the gun muzzle. In her brain this is already done, and she is walking out of the church, and she is lifting her phone to her ear. _Hello?_ Alison says. _I’m sorry,_ Sarah says. _I thought I could – I’m sorry._

_Sarah?_ Alison says, over and over. _Sarah?_ But she’s already hung up. She doesn’t turn around to look back; she doesn’t want to see what Helena’s body looks like when it’s

“Be sorry,” she says, and jabs the pistol against Helena’s skull.

“Our Father,” Helena says dreamily, “who art in heaven. Hallowed be your name.”

“Christ, Helena,” Sarah says, watching her hand start to shake on the pistol grip, “apologize, and I can stop. We can go home—”

(She doesn’t know if they can go home. This isn’t fixable. She came here to the church with a pistol and a plan, and neither of those things meant for her to leave Helena alive.)

(She did this before and it was easy—

Or maybe it wasn’t easy. Maybe it’s just that she’s remembering it that way, because she needs it. Helena standing over her and the pulled trigger. One-two. Like breathing in and out.)

“—and figure this out. Helena, just—”

Helena’s hand snakes around her back and covers Sarah’s hand. It’s warm. She curls her finger around the trigger.

“I’m tired,” she says. “And Sarah?”

Sarah doesn’t answer, throat choked tight.

“I don’t think I’m sorry,” Helena says, and she.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


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